'Better Call Saul' still delaying the inevitable

By Mike HaleNew York Times News Service

Thursday

Aug 9, 2018 at 4:00 AM

For three seasons, "Better Call Saul" has been an exercise in narrative delayed gratification: saving itself, postponing consummation, keeping its two storylines — fated to someday converge — apart for as long as possible.

In the early episodes of season four, which premiered Monday on AMC, the series still has its guard up. It teases us — an uncredited appearance by a familiar face from "Breaking Bad," the show’s progenitor and sequel, pushes the story a step closer to what we know is coming.

For the most part, though, the status quo holds. (Note: Three episodes were provided in advance to TV critics.)

Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk) is still Jimmy McGill, the morally conflicted shyster, and not yet Saul Goodman, the totally corrupt mob lawyer of "Breaking Bad." Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks) is on the payroll of drug boss Gus Fring (Giancarlo Esposito), but he's not yet a hit man or a meth trafficker.

Created as a prequel to a series in which its characters did very bad things, "Saul" has to be about what brought them to that point. As such, it has been far different from "Breaking Bad" — quieter, slower, funnier, looser. (I can recall only one on-screen murder in the first three seasons, seen at a distance. That total rises early in season four, perhaps the best indicator that change is in store.)

The things that make "Saul" a peak-TV favorite (the series has been nominated for the best-drama Emmy in each season of its existence) are still abundantly in evidence.

There’s the cinematography, toggling between the brutally sunny New Mexico days and pitch-black nights, with particular emphasis on the chiaroscuro of dark interiors. (Although with Jimmy’s disturbed brother, Chuck, committing suicide by house fire in the season three finale, the show has lost one of its primary indoor locations.)

There’s the talent of the cast, which extends from the leads to the vital supporting performances of Rhea Seehorn as Jimmy’s no-nonsense girlfriend, Kim; Michael McKean (through season three) as the brilliant, self-righteous Chuck; Michael Mando as the drug lieutenant Nacho; and Patrick Fabian, who doesn’t get as much attention but has made something distinctive of the thankless role of glad-handing lawyer Howard.

And cutting against the desperation and violence that frame it, "Saul" in its dark, straight-faced way, is one of the funniest dramas on television. The show’s anecdotal structure — its tendency to construct scenes as self-contained, jazzlike riffs — might not be for everyone, but those scenes are frequently gems in their own right.

An example in the new season involves Mike's first day at the job Gus has arranged in order to launder payments to him; rather than collect his check and go, Mike hops in a golf cart and speeds around the warehouse, actually performing his duties as a "security consultant," to the consternation of everyone present.

The glowering, silent presence of the Salamanca twins (Luis and Daniel Moncada), a reliable source of menace in "Breaking Bad," is used here (so far) for its comic effect. Standing by the bedside of their comatose uncle and boss, the twins are ordered by a doctor to speak to him — something they can’t even manage to do when he’s conscious.

The different metabolisms of the two shows are reflected in their stars: "Breaking Bad" was built around the intensity (and hamminess) of Bryan Cranston, while "Saul" aligns with the relatively understated style of Odenkirk.

Which leads to the problem with "Saul," to the extent that the series has one.

The idea of Jimmy McGill — the ne’er-do-well who discovers that his con-man skills transfer well to the law — makes sense, but Jimmy McGill the character, placed at the center of a show, has never been as entertaining or interesting as Saul Goodman was, in relatively small doses, in "Breaking Bad."

And the need to stretch the story out greatly exacerbates things. Jimmy bobs and weaves, moving between naked opportunism and glimmers of nobility, on an endless cycle of glee and guilt, without ever coming into focus. The writers’ hands are tied, to some degree, because we know where he ends up.

And Odenkirk’s performance is an issue, too. His nervous, shifty quality is perfect for the part, but he doesn’t bring a depth to Jimmy that would account for the character’s contradictions. (This is not a majority view — Odenkirk, like the show, is a three-time Emmy nominee.)

Season four continues to bring Jimmy and Mike together for brief, nonessential meetings, which means that, for now, "Saul" continues to be about a third of a really good show — the portion in which Banks gets to exercise his tremendous authority and subtlety in the storyline leading directly to the events of "Breaking Bad," while Odenkirk and the other major (non-Hispanic) characters spin their wheels in the legal drama.

The drug-cartel story hews to, and benefits from, the formulas of its genre, but it’s crisply told and it has an undeniable momentum.

Until Saul arrives, you’d better watch Gus and Mike.

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